


Salutem

by justanotherStonyfan



Series: Honey Honey [33]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types
Genre: Coffee Shops, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-21
Updated: 2020-06-21
Packaged: 2021-03-04 11:54:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,581
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24849334
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justanotherStonyfan/pseuds/justanotherStonyfan
Summary: Amy puts her elbow on the table and rests her head on her hand.“Mhm,” she says.“But he was awful the last time. Even if…” here he looks at Amy, and she just raises her eyebrows, unimpressed.“Whose fault?” she says.“His fault,” James says, and there’s even a bit of comfort in the familiarity of this conversation, too.“So what you gotta do is figure out - does this hurt you enough to move you on?”And James sighs through his nose.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Series: Honey Honey [33]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/943938
Comments: 125
Kudos: 363





	Salutem

**Author's Note:**

> This summary is clickbait dw :B
> 
> I've written nothing of this since quarantine because of the way I am under difficult conditions, but this piece belongs in the universe where it is, and wouldn't fit into the next piece I've got planned. So, for now, have this, and thank you for your patience.

Wednesday morning, Steve says goodbye to James in the parking lot and sets off on his motorcycle. He’s heading to the conversion to do some little chores, maybe look into hanging James’ silk thing as a canopy. He’s thinking about lots of other fabrics too - they’re going to look at IKEA’s website later, see if they can’t find some nice stuff, and Steve remembers walking around it with Clint years ago, remembers being awestruck and horrified and kind of morbidly fascinated all at once. But he _also_ remembers one of the big placards of writing on the wall about how the average person sleeps for twenty-seven years of their life (which, checkmate everyone else, Steve definitely wins _that_ one) but, more specifically, the little subtitle under it that said ‘create quiet environments by muffling the outside world with layered fabrics’ and, specifically right now while he’s thinking about James’s silk thing and, by extension, James’ place in Brooklyn, he remembers that it works.

James had lots of fabrics hanging from everywhere in his bedroom, and it was really quiet. Muffled, like new snow. 

He can do that. He knows IKEA do ceiling things, like strips of fabric, and he knows a haberdashery in Red Hook. One of the little hardware places near Vinegar Hill has wood to spare literally always, and the guy who owns it always asks if Steve needs any.

He could easily-

His bike is slowing down?

He looks down, confused, checking for a leak or something, and then the words, _PARAMETER BREACH DETECTED_ flash up on the inside of his visor. 

“What?” Steve says, and pulls over, putting his feet down as the bike comes to a stop - emergency protocol, emergency cutout.

He’s not even halfway back to the conversion, and he thinks for a second that it says ‘perimeter’ but, a moment later, additional text appears. _Anomalous technology detected, security parameters breached._

And _then_ , with the next piece, he understands. 

_Active Tracker Detected._

Steve feels his blood warm. That’s why the bike stopped - his security system’s stopping his journey so the tracker doesn’t have chance to see where he’s going.

Which means it’s on him right now and it’s just been activated.

His phone is in a pocket and takes it out, inputs his serial number instead of his lock-screen pass-code, and that takes him straight through to Jarvis.

 _“Good morning, Commander,”_ Jarvis says, _“your integrated personal security system has detected an active tracker and delayed transit. If you would like to dismount and follow instructions, I will run a scan.”_

No, first, he needs to tell James.

If Steve has one, there’s a massive chance that James has one. Maybe Amy too, shit.

“Wait, Jarvis, call James,” he says, and James does not pick up because it’s half past nine on a Wednesday and he’s working. “Can you message SI R&D Engineer Barnes and SI R&D Engineer Chen - advise that they need to be scanned for active trackers?”

There is a pause.

 _“I can comply with this request, Commander,”_ Jarvis answers, _“however, neither Engineer Barnes nor Engineer Chen have engaged the tower’s integrated security system. While I can inform them that they may benefit from a scan, there is currently no immediate data suggesting active trackers about their person.”_

Steve clenches his jaw. 

Someone put a tracker on him and he needs to calm the hell down.

“You’re right,” Steve says, closing his eyes, and he puts his hand over his visor trying to put his hand over his eyes, for God’s sake, Steve, calm the hell _down_. His heart is racing. “You’re right, I’m sorry. Please tell them to head for a scan on their lunch break..”

 _“Of course, Commander,”_ Jarvis answers. _“The requested messages have been sent. I will scour the available surveillance in order to determine the origin of the tracker.”_

And it’s about ten seconds later that a call from James comes up on the inside of his visor, too.

“Answer,” he says, and James says immediately-

“Steve!?” 

“I’m okay,” Steve says. “So are you both. I’ve been bugged, I don’t know when. It didn’t come on until right now and the security network in my phone and my bike registered it and headed it off. Okay?”

James sounds breathless.

 _“O-kay?”_ he says. 

“James, you’re fine. The tower would tell me if you or Amy had anything similar active, but I want to make sure. I don’t know when I was bugged, Jarvis is checking surveillance, it could have been weeks ago. But I panicked.”

There’s another pause, and then a huff of breath.

 _“You panicked?”_ James says. The _‘about me?’_ goes unspoken, but Steve hears it anyway.

“Yeah, yeah,” Steve answers, his chest already a little looser. “Listen, take you and Amy up to the apartment at lunch, make sure you’re both good to go just in case. Okay?”

 _“Yeah?”_ James says, and this, this is why Steve needs to think first and panic about James later.

“Honestly, sweetheart,” he says, and scans the traffic around him. “Don’t fret, okay? You’re okay, I just…” He sighs. “I just love you, that’s all.”

 _“Oh that’s all,”_ James says, and then the next part is quieter. _“He loves me.”_

_“Wow, stop the presses.”_

Steve snorts, feels a little better already.

“Okay, alright, knock it off. I’m gonna scan me for mine, and then I’m gonna head back to the tower to talk to Tony and you can both get a scan later. I wanna see you both at lunch. Both of you.”

 _“Sorry, did you want to see both of us?”_ James answers.

“Goodbye,” Steve says, but James says, 

_“Wait, hold on,”_ and Steve does. _“Are you still- Did you not scan you first? Are you still wearing a tracker?”_

“Yes,” Steve says, “because I panicked first. So I’ll see you at lunch ‘cause I gotta handle this now. Okay?”

He hears James sigh.

_“I love you, you ginormous doof.”_

“I love you too, you tiny smartass,” Steve answers, and hangs up just as he hears James say,

_“Hey!”_

“Okay,” Steve says. “Get off the bike, scan the bike, find the tracker.”

_“Correct, Commander.”_

“Okay. Thank you,” Steve says, and does indeed dismount. 

He doesn’t, as it turns out, have to do much - all the instructions tell him to do are pass the phone over himself and his ride to narrow it down.

When it turns out to be in the storage compartment, Steve opens it, and when it turns out to be in his coat, he checks every pocket, and the only things he has in the coat are a handkerchief and a spare button.

“Are you kidding me?”he mutters, and passes the phone over it-

Yep.

It’s the button.

A _literal_ button.

“This is it?” he says, 

_“It is indeed, Sir,”_ Jarvis says, and Steve looks at it.

It was in his breast pocket. If he hadn’t known to look for it, there’s a strong likelihood he’d never have found it.

“Can you disable it?” he asks.

 _“I have already done so, Commander,”_ and Steve shuts his eyes.

“Of course you have,” he says. “I’m sorry.”

 _“Not at all, Sir,”_ Jarvis answers, and Steve takes a deep breath and looks at the little ‘spare button.’

_“Traffic is building on FDR Drive, the shortest available route to the Tower is now along First Avenue.”_

Steve puts the tracker in a small compartment just behind the handlebars, and mounts the bike once more.

“Thanks, Jarvis,” he says. “You’re a lifesaver.”

It’s not a word of a lie.

~

He gets into the building and heads up as soon as he gets into the elevator.

“Jarvis, where’s Tony right now?”

 _“Mr Stark is waiting for you on the forty-first floor,”_ Jarvis answers, and Steve nods, scrubs his hand over his face. 

Tony is waiting _right there_ when the elevator doors open, and Steve holds out the button.

Tony looks at it, arms crossed over his chest.

“How long have you known me, darling?” he says, and Steve rolls his eyes, marches past Tony, and puts it on the nearest flat surface so Tony doesn’t have to have it handed to him.

Tony breezes past him and picks it up, and then carries on into one of his working floors. It’s got a few techs in it who are running lab tests and whatnot but these floors are sparsely populated because it’s only sparse personnel who are trusted.

This is “Red Team” because Research & Development: Testing and Manufacture apparently just doesn’t have the same ring to it as a word made out of RD:TM. Steve kind of gets it but sometimes he wonders if it wouldn’t be more prudent to just call things what they are.

Everybody knows that Bambi’s named for someone important to Tony and yet, technically, she’s patented as Bureaucratic Assistant…something, something - Steve has it somewhere in the recesses of his brain, he has _everything_ in there somewhere, but it’s irrelevant right now.

“So Jarvis picked this up, did he?” Tony says.

Bureaucratic Assisting Managerial Backup Intelligence, _Jesus Christ._

“Yeah, I was halfway back to Brooklyn when it activated,” he says, the back of his neck still crawling a little.

Tony turns it over in his hand and Steve follows him through a couple of doors.

“It’s small,” he says. “But I’ve seen one before.”

Steve frowns.

“You have?” he says, and Tony looks back at him.

“I have,” he says. And then he says, “I helped develop them.”

***

Steve is, when James and Amy walk through the apartment door, sitting sideways at the table with his right elbow on the surface and the fingers of his hand steepled against his temple. He doesn’t look pleased.

James isn’t that concerned - the speed with which Steve contacted him and Amy was enough that he knows the no-further-action between then and now means they’re fine, but it’s nice that Steve’s so pissed about it.

“Hey,” James says, and Steve gets up from his seat like he owns the tower, like he’s been personally wronged by someone standing directly behind James and Amy.

“Hi,” he says, voice low and rough, and he looks at Amy too. “Hey.”

“Hi,” she says. 

“Turn around,” he points at the door, “we’re goin’ to Red Team.”

James feels his eyes go wide and then looks at Amy - whose eyes are similarly wide.

“Holy shit,” James says. “Red Team? We’re not cleared for-”

“You’re cleared to walk through Red Team to get to Tony on this occasion,” Steve answers. “Let’s go.”

And they leave the apartment and pile back into the elevator.

 _“Good afternoon,”_ Jarvis says. _“While the tower has not detected active tracking devices on your person, you are now being taken to one of Mr Stark’s personal workshops to be scanned for inactive devices. This scan will require you to stand with your feet shoulder-width apart and your arms raised on either side of your bodies, and will take approximately twenty seconds. You are not required to remove any items of clothing or personal items, you are not required to remain immobile. You will be required to submit your bags for scanning. No images of your bodies will be taken - the scan detects technology only. Does either engineer have any questions?”_

When James looks at Steve, Steve’s looking at him.

“No,” he says, and Amy shakes her head.

Steve’s a little scary like this and it’s only because James thinks that’s hot that he’s not as wide-eyed as Amy seems to be.

“Nope,” she says a little more quietly than James is used to, and Steve nods.

_“Thank you. Please follow the Commander.”_

And the elevator doors open, so Steve marches off and the two of them hustle after him. 

Red Team is huge, and very sterile looking. It's full of big windows and white-and-chrome stuff, and the central corridor down which they walk is long and curving.

“Holy shit,” Amy whispers, and Steve’s head turns a little but he doesn’t slow. 

When they reach a wall that’s gray and opaque, seemingly at the end of the corridor, Steve steps to one side and holds out a hand, and then a door opens and…

Okay so first of all, how on earth do you get an AC Cobra inside a skyscraper and, second, how the hell do you get it this far up?

“Steven, beloved, you’ve brought me guinea pigs, how nice of you,” Tony Stark’s voice says, and both their heads swivel to look at him. “James Barnes, Amy Chen.”

“Tony Stark, Steve Rogers,” Steve answers. “You done?”

And Tony turns to him, eyebrows raised.

“Alright, darling,” he says, one hand out placatingly, his concern apparently genuine, and then he waves a finger around for a moment, ceiling, walls, floor. “Faraday, containment, et cetera - everybody’s safe, don’t go bursting your blood vessels.”

Steve’s jaw is locked tight, and James reaches out to touch him - just a hand on his arm. 

“We’re fine,” he says. “Who’s gonna get us in here?”

And Steve takes a deep breath and blows it out very slowly through his nose.

“Fine,” he says, but then he’s clenching his jaw again.

“Jarvis informs me you’ve been read your rights, so to speak - who’s first?”

“I am,” Amy says, no hesitation, and Steve squares his shoulders. “Where do I stand?”

“Right where you are,” Tony answers, smiling, and she blinks, but then stands with her feet shoulder-width apart and her arms out to the sides. “Ready?”

“Yep,” Amy says, and there’s suddenly turquoise-blue light arcing around…well, all of them, actually, but it converges in a sort of holographic cage around Amy, and then what looks like a horizontal line projects onto her, and slowly travels downward.

She startles when it first appears, but relaxes after a moment, and nobody seems concerned. Well, Tony doesn’t seem concerned, Steve looks like he’s going to snap something internal. 

When it reaches her feet, all the lines turn green, and then kind of break and scatter, and Tony turns to James. 

“Assume the position, darling,” he says, and Steve takes another of those steadying-breath things while James bites back a smile and does as he’s asked.

More light cages, more horizontal lines, more green, and Steve deflates by about three inches with the color change, head going back as his shoulders fall. His mouth opens a little as his jaw disengages, and he looks to Tony immediately.

“Thank you,” he says, and Tony waves a screwdriver he didn’t have a minute ago.

“A pleasure,” he says. “Nothing to worry about.”

Steve nods, and James steps a little closer, rubs a hand down Steve’s spine and back. 

“There isn’t any footage of it showing up that Jarvis was able to tell,” Tony says. “No extra heat signatures, no extended periods of unattended clothing. Wherever you picked that thing up, it wasn’t in the tower.”

“Jesus, it could have been anywhere,” Steve says. “I’ve been wearing that coat for months. I’ve had it for _years.”_

“The coffee shop?” Amy says, and Steve chews his lip for a moment.

“No…” he says. “No, I never left it unattended. _And_ , I’ve had this coat five years and never used the breast pocket.”

James feels his mouth twist. 

“It…I’m…worried that it’s the coffee place.”

“It’s not the coffee place,” Tony says, and all three of them turn to look at him. “Obviously we,” and he swipes his hand out to point at the three of them in one sweep of his hand, “never inform anyone I can do this, but I have their surveillance. Or, Jarvis does.” He pulls an image out into the air - it’s definitely the camera from the shop. Although it shows a still, that’s clearly the three of them at café Quoffie. “Jarvis has already scanned it - nobody came close enough to you to plant it.”

“Wait, how do you know what coffee shop?” James says and, without even looking, Steve answers,

“He tracks me.”

James turns bodily to look at him.

“Excuse me?” he says, and Steve looks at him, gaze burning.

“Tony tracks my phone,” he says. “Because I asked him to. He also provides the trackers I swallow on mission and the ones sewn into my uniforms.”

“Uniforms?” Amy asks. “More than one?”

“I know,” James says. “It’s like finding out there’s no rabbit in the hat.”

“He doesn’t track you,” Steve says, “he doesn’t track anyone who doesn’t ask, but I asked. Ask me why.”

But it’s as Steve finishes speaking that James realizes.

“I know why,” James answers. “Because a tracker would have saved you seventy years. I’m sorry, it just took me a second.”

“The point is,” Tony says, and they all look at him again, “nobody came close enough to plant it. It looks like a button. You’ve never had your hand in that pocket since you cut the thread to open it when I had it delivered. So, some time in the last five years, between ‘Thank you for my very fashionable Christmas present’ and this-morning-on-FDR-Drive, someone planted a bug that looked like a button. Which is kind of lucky, actually.”

“Lucky?” Steve says, sounding not at all like he sees it that way.

“This technology is old,” Tony answers, and then he looks at Steve, the corner of his mouth ticking up. “Not by your standards, darling, but by mine - this is a good five years old at least, probably a lot longer, which I know because I developed it.” He turns to James and Amy. “Lightyears ahead of everyone else, of course, but my issue here is, I only provided this technology to SHIELD.”

“What?” Steve says.

Tony holds up a hand.

“Remember,” he says, “that you’ve had a shock today, and that terrorists in a cave had my weapons. Just because I give something specific to someone specific doesn’t mean that’s whose hands it ends up in. _But_ , remember Occam’s razor too.”

Steve frowns. 

“So it’s SHIELD,” he says. “Again.”

“What I’m saying,” Tony answers, “is that it wouldn’t be the first time SHIELD have tried to keep tabs on us.”

“But you said this is old,” Steve says, and James puts a hand out because Steve advances a couple of steps on Tony, looming. “Sorry,” he amends, and Tony shakes his head.

“Not to worry, blueberry, I’m used to your intimidation techniques,” he says. “This technology is not the technology I use on you. When I track you, I use state of the art technology because _I_ keep _us_ ,” he flicks his hand between him and Steve, “ahead of the game - again, we don’t tell anyone about this.”

James nods, and he sees Amy nod too.

“This is SHIELD,” Tony says. “Or someone using SHIELD technology, but who else has access to you?”

Steve does not seem comforted by this information, and James doesn’t know what to think.

“It’s a button,” Steve says. “I could have one of these on any one of my jackets-”

“You don’t, not here - Jarvis scanned your apartment this afternoon while you were on your way back here, and I’m updating the security at the conversion as we speak. It will scan shortly and then I’ll be able to tell you what I’m almost certain of now - that there’s nothing there.”

Steve sighs.

“I don’t know the reason,” Tony continues. “Perhaps SHIELD tried it on. Left it a couple of years and then tried to get it past you, but my systems and your instincts are too smart for them.”

“Not my instincts,” Steve says, shaking his head. “I was all over the place about it.”

“Well,” Tony says, shrugging. “The point is, you found it, there are no others that we know of yet, and we’ll confirm it in…” he glances at one of his screens. “Half an hour.”

“But why?” Steve says. “Why today, when I’m not doing anything, when I’m halfway back to the place they know I live?”

And Tony points at him with the wrench. What happened to the screwdriver?

“Exactly,” he says. _“That’s_ the twenty billion dollar question.”

Steve shuts his eyes.

“Twenty-” he says. “You’re making me queasy.”

Tony laughs.

“That’s why I do it,” he says. “But jokes about inflation aside, and in all seriousness, the tracker’s been found, the beau and the bestie are clear, and your apartment’s secure. Twenty-six minutes and we’ll know for sure that your conversion’s the same, and then you can have a word with the dread pirate next time you’re in DC.”

Steve’s eyebrows go up as he turns. 

“Fuck a duck,” he mutters. 

Amy laughs and then slaps a hand over her mouth.

“Sorry,” Steve says, but there is - finally - a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, too. “I mean juice a goose.”

“I’m sure Jolly Old Saint Fury’ll be glad to see you,” Tony says. 

“Jolly Old Saint Fury can kiss my red, white and blues,” Steve answers, and Tony looks delighted. “I’ll think about it. For now, it’s a button and you and Jarvis found it and we’re alright aside from that, so I don’t consider it so bad.”

James glances at Amy, and Amy looks skeptical. It’s Tony who speaks though.

“Who did you _think_ it was?” he says, and Steve shakes his head.

For a long few moments, there’s silence, but then he shakes his head again.

“I don’t know,” he says, and then he looks at Tony again, the same intensity in his gaze as there always is when he means business. “That’s why I brought it to you.”

“So Jarvis couldn’t find it until it was active?” James says, and Tony shakes his head.

“Jarvis could have but Jarvis doesn’t,” he says, walking away. “Tracking technology is tech that we work on, and it’s tech that’s installed in a lot of other tech in the tower, and it’s tech that’s in the uniforms, the vehicles, the weapons - I,” he turns back, “by which I mean Jarvis and therefore Jarvis and I,” he turns away again, “make sure that no Avenger technology or personnel fall into the wrong hands. Or get lost in the Arctic for the better half of a century - Jarvis scans for active trackers and notifies me if something is unusual. Jarvis _can_ detect inactive trackers but it wouldn’t get us anywhere.”

“Because he’d pick up every single one in the tower,” Amy says, and Tony points his screwdriver - okay, whatever - at her.

“Right again, geniuses,” he says, and glances at a screen as he talks again. “Accounting for personal cellular devices, there are seventeen on this floor alone. And this is just Red Team.”

James sighs through his nose. Then he looks at Steve.

“Can you track it?” Steve says. “Find out where the activation signal originated?”

“Not so far,” Tony says, “which is a little odd considering it’s me. The tracker’s old but the encryption is very much not, but we’re working on it. It’s being rerouted repeatedly - it knows we’re on to it, I guess.”

Tony pulls up another screen, which shows a satellite image of New York with a line connecting Stark tower to Wall Street and then the Bronx and then Central Park, with an encryption indicator still busily decoding in the corner, although that indicator is presumably overlaid for their benefit. But yeah, okay, point taken. 

“Anywhere except the New York branch of SHIELD,” Steve says. “Jesus. I hate this. I hate that they do this - that they always do this without telling me. There’s something wrong about all of this.” Steve says, and Tony nods.

“You’re not wrong,” he says. “Perhaps you’d all like to shuffle off so that Jarvis and I can get to the bottom of it?”

Steve rolls his eyes.

“A’right,” he says, and James looks at him, Amy does too, and Steve indicates the doors while Tony grabs a pair of goggles and looks at them critically. “Thanks Tony.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Tony answers, and Steve’s smile gets a little wider as he ushers them out of the lab.

They walk straight back out of Red Team because, actually, they are not cleared to be here at all really. An exception’s being made for them, sure, but they shouldn’t be on the floor, let alone looking through these big windows. 

Steve doesn’t rush them, James notices. They’re not supposed to be here, the likelihood of them being here again is very, very slim, and the projects being developed here are very, _very_ classified, but they’re casually strolling along, and they all get into the elevator together once they reach it.

“Fucking SHIELD,” Steve mutters as the doors close, and it’s funny - it always is when Steve swears like a punchline - but Steve isn’t smiling about it. 

~

Lunch is subdued, and James can see Steve thinking. Which he can understand.

“When was the last time?” he says, and Steve takes a deep breath and blows it out through his nose slowly.

“It’s been a while,” he says. “Usually they just try and get into Tony’s system. Sometimes they ask.”

Then he sits back, hands in his lap as he stares out the window. It’s a grayish day today but James can tell by the look in his eyes that he isn’t seeing the clouds. He isn’t seeing any of it.

“Why now?” he says, and narrows his eyes.

“You said Natasha Romanov’s been called away,” Amy says, and he looks at her so fast James’ neck hurts. 

He doesn’t say anything but his eyes are sharp, and James _feels_ Amy shrink back a little. Steve doesn’t notice, and looks away after a long few moments. 

“She wouldn’t,” he says, in a way that clearly says _she’d better not._

“No,” Amy says. “But it might be to do with that? If…they’re worried about her, maybe they want to keep tabs on you?”

Steve stares and stares out of the window, and James can hear the air con and the clock on the wall.

“I’d like to think that if they were worried about her, they’d know to send me,” he says, and James hears the unspoken _but…_

He stares for a few moments longer, and then shakes his head. Then he picks up his knife and fork and resumes eating. 

He’s made chilli and rice which, apparently, was just living in the freezer. Because even when Steve doesn’t have time to cook, he’s still an excellent cook.

They eat mainly in silence until a bit of something goes down the wrong way and Amy coughs, but she’s trying to maintain the quiet so she doesn’t cough out loud because Steve’s in a bad mood, and her water glass is empty, and James is opening his mouth to speak when Steve gets up like his ass his on fire and swipes her glass.

“Jesus, Amy, lemme-”

He gets her a glass of water, and James leans forward.

“You want a slap?” he says, and she presses her hand to her mouth and nods and she coughs more.

James slaps her on the back a little and Steve arrives with the water a moment later.

“I’m sorry,” he says. “You- Here.”

He gives her a napkin, and she tries to cough up a lung.

It doesn’t last long, she’s fine - it happens to everyone - but Steve looks at James like he thinks he’s personally wronged her. James makes a little gesture with his hand - whatever Steve’s thinking, it can wait a minute - but Steve covers his mouth with his hand while she recovers.

Eventually, she clears her throat and sits back to breathe.

“Sorry,” Steve says. 

She frowns, shakes her head.

“It’s not your fault,” she rasps, but he doesn’t look convinced. 

“I mean, my fault that you’re twenty whatever and you don’t know how to eat and breathe at the same time, no,” Steve says, and she chuckles. “But I’m the one that’s got you treating the place like a library, I’m sorry.”

“S’okay?” she says, still not entirely certain.

“Nah, come on,” Steve says, and then looks at James. “Right?”

“Yeah, you’re bein’ a downer,” James says, and Steve holds out a hand to James as he looks at Amy. 

“See?” he says.

Amy just shakes her head, and then shakes it more. 

“Okay,” she says. “Except I think I’m saving the insults for when I know you better.”

Steve shrugs.

“And yet you’re able to physically assault my poor shin in a coffee shop.”

“Okay, then,” she says, “lighten up.”

Steve laughs.

“A’right,” he says. “I’ll try.”

~

“Little less weird this time?” James says, and Amy smiles at her shoes, crinkling the wrapper of her croissant.

Steve didn’t bake them himself but they were picked up fresh from the counter this morning, and he filled them for James and Amy before they left the apartment to come back downstairs. (James is provolone and Monterey Jack, Amy’s is cloudberry jam. Because Steve had cloudberry jam.)

“Yeah,” she says. “I see what you mean about change in attitude.”

James cocks his head.

“Yeah?” he says, and she looks at him, nodding.

“Yeah,” she says. “You don’t seem as…like…worried about what he’s gonna say to you. You know? At the coffee place, too, before.”

James feels himself smile as the doors open back on the floor they work on.

“Well,” he says. “Good! Good. Right?”

“Yeah!” She says as they step out. “Yeah, it’s good, just like…” She laughs. “You’re dating _him_.”

They cross to their places - they’ve got a little time left but it’s nice to be early - and James unplugs his phone from its charger. There’s a message - which is from Steve, about two minutes ago, and reads _Miss you_ even though he’s got literally no reason to miss James at all.

James sends a bunch of mushy emojis back before he logs in.

“You like him,” James says. “Right?”

“Yeah?” Amy says, bemused. “Of course. He like me?”

“Oh, he thinks you’re great,” James says. “But like…chicks before dicks, so I’m just checking you’re good with him.”

Amy laughs, and starts unwrapping her croissant.

***

He and Amy head out of the tower at five on foot, James shoots Steve a text to let him know they’re going out.

“You sure?” Amy says, and James nods. 

“Positive,” he says, though he feels far from it.

By the time they get there, he’s ready to turn right back around but that’s ridiculous. He’s gonna be twenty-two in two months, he can totally deal with ordering his own coffee. 

Except they doesn’t get get served by the barista who was rude. They get served by Newbie, whose name is Tyler and, actually, _James_ is served by Tyler. Because Quoffie has been a little secret haven for him once or twice, and he’s determined not to lose that just because some dude couldn’t handle how many customers he was getting.

James sips his coffee quietly.

Rainbow bunting or no, he’s nervous.

“You okay?” Amy says softly, and he nods a little, wonders if he looks as shaky as he feels. 

Amy asks him like it’s an ordinary question, like she doesn’t know why he’s all worked up about it. 

“Yeah,” he says, and he sips his latte. 

He bought a latte because he wanted hot chocolate, and some little part of his brain said ‘don’t buy your favorite, just in case.’ Like an argument before a meal that makes the food taste like ash, like a drink before an interview that might as well be salt water for all the thirst it slakes, James bought a coffee he doesn’t drink because he doesn’t want the hot chocolate he’d enjoy - not if he’s gotta drink it in a place that he maybe can’t be happy in any longer. 

You wouldn’t ask the kid who beat you up behind the bleachers for a hand up, would you?

“You don’t look okay,” Amy says, but James sighs through his nose.

“I am,” he says. “I’m not great but I’m okay.”

She nods, and sips her cappuccino. 

James’ hands itch to tell Steve what he’s doing - he didn’t before he left, he just told Steve he was going out with Amy, and off they went.

It feels like a lie of omission now.

“James,” she says, and he pulls his phone from his pocket.

“I’m telling Steve where I am,” he says, and texts him.

Even that, though, even that by itself helps a little. He gets a message back straight away. _Any problems?_ and he feels the tension ease in his chest a little. He’s got the Former Captain America backing him up but, more than that, he’s got Steve, his boyfriend, ready to fold him up in his arms when he gets back.

He answers that there’ve been none so far, and carefully doesn’t mention that it’s because he hasn’t spoken to the guy.

“Maybe he was just really busy,” James says, thinking it through as he pockets his phone. “Like, if he thought I was trying to rush him. You know? I was just asking about the twenty but maybe he thought I was trying to monopolize him or something?”

“Maybe,” Amy answers, and James looks at her. 

She looks like she’s just saying yes because he sort of asked.

“What do you actually think?” he says, and she tilts her head. 

“I think you’re in a queer café and your desire to continue visiting it is coloring your response to your last encounter in it _but_ ,” she says, and it’s just as well ‘cause James was absolutely gonna butt in there, “I also think bad service comes with life sometimes.”

He frowns at his cup.

“I wanna keep coming here,” he says, and Amy puts her elbow on the table and rests her head on her hand.

“Mhm,” she says. 

“But he was awful the last time. Even if…” here he looks at Amy, and she just raises her eyebrows, unimpressed.

“Whose fault?” she says.

“His fault,” James says, and there’s even a bit of comfort in the familiarity of this conversation, too. 

“So what you gotta do is figure out - does this hurt you enough to move you on?”

And James sighs through his nose. 

This is a moody barista, not an abusive ex. A sad-faced coffee guy, not an irrevocable decision. He’s still acutely aware, however, that the reason he’s happier now he’s got his coffee is that he didn’t know whether the barista was in a good mood or not before he walked in and, now that he knows the barista’s in a good mood, he’s able to relax. Which is an awful feeling. Don’t get him wrong, it’s one that he’s glad he doesn’t have to feel about anyone who’s important to him but, still…

The idea that he can relax because someone else is in a good mood _and therefore James is safe?_ Yeah, that’s not good enough. There are whole psychology books about that idea, court cases based on that kind of shit.

_I’m safe as long as you’re in a good mood._

That’s more than the coffee’s worth, actually.

“I really like this place,” he says. “And I wanna keep coming here. But…” He shakes his head.

She’s right. He doesn’t want to stop coming to the nicest queer-friendly place he knows. But he knows how he feels about it now.

“I’m glad you’re with me,” he says instead, but she knows - she always does.

“Well in that case,” she says, “we keep coming together. Second chance, right?”

“Sure,” James says, and it’s not as scary to be sitting at a table in the back, with Amy. 

Will he be coming here alone again, though?

Not a chance. 

“You okay?” she asks, and he nods a little, glances nervously at the other barista and then notices he’s doing it and looks away. 

“I’ll be fine,” he says, which is not yes, but is fully understandable.

Amy nods, and sits up straight again, squinting at the posters to try and read them on the other side of the room, and James goes back to his coffee, careful not to burn his mouth. He didn’t order a brownie either - maybe he can convince Steve to make some.

(Who’s he kidding? If he even mentions brownies around Steve, Steve’ll probably open a bakery immediately or something.)

“Why are all the cute ones gay?” Amy says suddenly, softly, and James looks at her, and then at Tyler, which is where Amy’s looking.

“We’re too good for you,” he answers, and Amy taps his shoe with hers under the table.

“Don’t be a dick,” she says.

“Maybe he’s got a brother,” James answers, but he sees Tyler glance in their direction. 

Tyler is taller than both of them, and broad in the shoulders, narrow at the waist - cut. He’s _gorgeous,_ \- sponge twists with a shaved part, eyes almost as dark as his hair, and a small smile playing about his lips. He’s got his shirt open down past his very-nice collar bones, and sleeves rolled far enough up his forearms that they can see the white-ink tat that crawls up his right arm. It’s a beautiful contrast on his skin, James isn’t oblivious, but a moment later it looks like Tyler’s not oblivious either. 

“Are you sure he’s gay?” James mutters, because it doesn’t look like Tyler’s checking _him_ out.

Amy sighs through her nose, mouth twisting.

“What do you want next?” she says, and looks at James.

“Uh?” James says. “What?”

She pushes her chair back and stands. 

“Can’t talk to him without an order, what are you drinking?”

“Uh?” James says, and he almost looks at the menu board but he doesn’t want to accidentally catch Mean Barista’s eye. Yeah, this place is ruined for him. But he can still be a good wingman. “I would love a salted caramel mocha if you’re going, and then can I have a brownie to take back for Steve? You can tell Tyler it’s for my boyfriend.”

Amy considers this for a moment.

“Nice in,” she says, nodding. “Thanks.”

***

“And so his sister’s the queer one,” Amy says. 

It worked, because sometimes their plans work - Tyler isn’t working in a queer café because he’s queer, and he wasn’t interested in James’ boyfriend. He wanted to know if Amy wanted a brownie for her girlfriend too and, well…

“So I’m gonna text him tomorrow,” she says, beaming.

Tyler heard about the job through his sister, and he’s given Amy his number.

She’s practically skipping down the sidewalk.

“We can double date at a better coffee shop,” James says, and then _immediately_ realizes what he’s said and regrets it. “I’m kidding!” 

Because if she thinks he’s serious, it’ll bring her mood down, and that’s not what he wants. 

“Hey,” she says, and he knows she’s about to pick up on it, so he says,

“So like we get a discount now, right?” instead, and she slaps his arm. 

“Not until at least the third date,” she answers, and James nods.

“That’s fair,” he says. “How are you getting home?”

“I’m gettin’ the B train,” she says, still grinning as she steps away from him.

“A’right,” he says, grinning just as widely as she is. “Text me when you get home!”

“Sure,” she says. “See you tomorrow!”

James nods as he laughs, but she’s disappearing into the crowd by then. 

He feels the smile slide off his face a moment later as he turns back, hunches his shoulders up, and flips up his collar to keep out the cold. 

It’s only a short walk back to the tower, but James can’t wait to get there. 

~

“Hey,” Steve says, smiling as he turns.

‘Chicken and fries’ is simple but he’s hoping to make up for it with the fact that the chicken is homemade chicken Kiev, and the fries are tempura sweet potato. He’s also made cornbread, because none of those things go together but James likes all of them. The garlic chicken especially. But _especially_ the fries and cornbread.

And then he sees the look on James’ face. 

“Hey,” he says, softly, wiping his hands on a dishcloth before he goes over to talk to him, anxiety crawling up his throat. “Honey, what’s wrong?”

He gets his hands on James’ shoulders and James closes his eyes for a minute.

“We went back to Quoffie,” he says, and Steve nods, he knew that.

“Yeah?” he says. “How’d it go?”

James looks resigned, tired. He’s frowning even when he opens his eyes again. 

“Amy got Tyler’s number - the new guy. The new guy behind the bar’s name is Tyler, Amy got his number. I brought brownies.”

And here he holds up the little bag with two brownies in it. 

Huh.

“Okay,” Steve says, “thank you. That’ll go great after dinner. And…congratulations to Amy but did…was everything okay?”

Because Steve’s not about to march down there and give the other barista guy what-for with his fists, but-

“It was fine,” James says. “Except that I realized that I was checking to see if the barista was in a good mood. You know?”

Steve frowns.

“You were?” he says, because he’s not sure what else to say - whatever James is getting at, it’s something Steve hasn’t figured out himself yet.

“Mhm,” James says. “And then I realized I felt safer ‘cause the guy was in a good mood-”

 _That_ makes something hot and ugly flare up in Steve’s chest and it only takes him a second to place. He’s worked with domestic abuse victims, he’s heard the stories enough to see red flags a mile away.

“Excuse me?” he says, not because he’s mad at James but because somebody’s made James feel this way. “Wait, not in a- I’m not mad at you.”

“I know,” James says, “but yeah, exactly.”

Steve lifts one hand from James’ shoulders and cradles James’ cheek with it instead.

“Aw, honey,” he says, and James shakes his head, looks down.

“I don’t need it,” he says, and then he looks up at Steve with those big, blue eyes and says more with that one expression than Steve ever could with words as he shakes his head. “Spend every cup’a coffee waitin’ for him to slam somethin’ down on the table or yell at me for takin’ too long.”

Steve feels himself frown, incredulous. 

“What?” he says, did the guy _do_ that?

“I’m sure he’s a real nice guy, I’m sure he was havin’ a real bad day. But I ain’t goin’ for coffee somewhere I’m scared to drink it.” Steve’s horrified. And then, like a challenge, James says, “I’m not goin’ back.”

And, for a moment, all Steve can do is look at him. 

And then he kisses him, because he can do that too.

“Whatever you want, baby,” he says. “We’ll never go back there if that’s what you want.”

James presses his lips together, shakes his head instead of speaking, so Steve gathers him close. 

“Aw, sweetheart I’m sorry,” he murmurs.

He gives good hugs, so he’s told. 

~

Steve’s just dishing up when James’ phone lights up.

“Butter on your corn bread?” he says quietly, because he’s not sure if it’s a call, and James smiles at his phone.

“Yes please,” he says, glancing up, and so Steve carves out a huge hunk of butter and drops it on the cornbread. 

He grabs some of the katsu stir-fry sauce stuff from the condiment cupboard too and mixes some into the mayo on James’ plate by the tempura sweet potato fries. It’s not a bad spread, though he thinks so himself. And there’s still ice-cream in the freezer for dessert. 

He puts James’ plate down in front of him, and James’ eyes go very big.

“Man, this looks good,” he says, and Steve smiles at him fondly.

He says grace quickly and silently, and then nods at James’ phone.

“Everything okay?” he says, because he doesn’t mean to read things upside-down immediately but he noticed the ‘Amy’ before he thought not to.

“Yeah, she’s home safe,” James answers, cutting into his chicken. 

Steve loves James so much.

“I love you so much,” he says, and James gives him a smile that’s still a little tired but heartfelt nonetheless.

“I love you too,” he says. “And you have no idea how glad I am you get on with my friends. Friend?”

The breadcrumbs are so crisp Steve can hear them, and the noise James makes after his first mouthful is well worth the effort of cooking. Plus, the food’s really good and Steve could eat about six of the breaded chicken breasts, which is a good job because he’s made a couple extra.

“Hope you don’t mind kissing me with garlic breath,” James says, and Steve very purposefully mops up some garlic butter with a corner of his cornbread and chomps on it.

“Hope _you_ don’t mind kissing _me_ with garlic breath,” he answers. 

It is really good. Still, stuff anything with butter and it’ll taste pretty good, he’s fairly sure.

“Did Tony scan the conversion?” James says, and Steve nods.

“Yep,” he answers. “Everything clear, here and there. We’re safe, baby.”

James nods, starts cutting the edges off his chicken breast, and Steve watches him for a moment or two until he’s certain he’s not doing it because he doesn’t want to eat what’s on his plate.

Ah, he’s eating the edges first, that’s just fine. James starts in on his fries a few moments later, and Steve tries to think of something to talk to him about.

“Anything I can do to help?” he says softly after a minute or so, and James shakes his head.

“I’d be a mess if I didn’t have you to come home to,” James answers. “Dumb, isn’t it?”

“No,” Steve answers, almost before James has finished speaking, and James looks as though he’s not convinced.

“Eh,” he says, and goes back to his food.

“What part of it’s dumb, James?” he asks, because he can’t help if he doesn’t know how, and James scrubs a hand over his face.

Steve’s mad - not at James, it’s not James’ fault - but he’s mad somebody’s made James feel this way. He’s more mad that the person who’s made him feel this way is ruining something special for James, but there’s more than that, he can feel it.

“It’s just stupid,” James says. “You know? Like the dude was just pissed at me ‘cause he was busy and it prob’ly wasn’t even as mean as I thought, it just took me by surprise.”

But Steve can hear it in James’ tone of voice - years of being underestimated by spies who focus on the psychological, and countless missions alongside the one superspy willing to actually teach him what she knew, have taught him.

“It wasn’t your fault for trusting that it was a safe place to go,” he says. “Safe Space was practically written in neon, and it doesn’t make you stupid for not anticipating someone else’s shitty behavior.”

Of course, what Steve really wants to know is why James is turning this inward instead of outward, but he knows everybody’s different. He knows James is a sensitive person.

But he wonders what he _doesn’t_ know. 

He reaches out, takes James’ hand in his.

“Baby, lookit me,” he murmurs, and James does.

He still looks tired more than anything, and Steve doesn’t understand why.

“What am I missing?” he says, and James takes a long, slow breath and closes his eyes. 

Then he shakes his head a little.

“Nothing,” he says, and then he opens his eyes and looks at Steve. “I’m lying,” he says. “Something. But…” He shakes his head again. “Not today.”

Steve nods, leans forward and nods more, squeezes James’ fingers.

“Okay,” he says, “okay, sweetheart. Okay.”

James smiles tightly, and looks at Steve for a couple more moments, and then extracts his hand from Steve’s and starts on his food again.

When he’s done, Steve suggests the brownies.

“You can have mine,” James says from the couch.

Steve squints at the packaging.

He can give them to Wanda. She loves brownies. 

He puts them back in the refrigerator and goes to sit with James on the couch.

***

Steve doesn’t go jogging the next morning. They stayed at the tower and set the windows to allow the light in, and they fell asleep together, with James snuggled into Steve’s side while Steve stared out at the lights of New York. 

He doesn’t set his alarm in the morning, he has no desire to leave. James was quiet the whole evening, and Steve is well-accustomed to that feeling. 

When James wakes, he doesn’t move. He smudges two little kisses against Steve’s chest, and then settles his head back down again, arm over Steve’s stomach.

His hair’s down, and Steve’s got an arm around his shoulders anyway, so it’s not difficult to brush James’ hair back off his face by touch, and James would ask him to stop if he wanted him to stop.

“Morning,” Steve says softly, and he says it low and soft because he knows James likes the reverberation when he’s lying like this.

“Hm,” James says, the noise blurred against Steve’s skin.

“Sleep okay?”

“You smell good,” James mumbles, and Steve smiles, keeps his breathing slow and even so as not to jostle him. “I slept okay.”

Steve glances at the readout on the digital display on the nightstand.

It’s not late at all - they’ve got another half hour before they have to think about getting up. 

“I been thinkin’ ‘bout Valentines,” Steve says quietly, because it’s an easy topic to start with. 

It says ‘I love you’ without him having to say it, talks about togetherness and security without him having to say ‘so do you feel any better this morning?’ and ruin the mood.

James turns his head again, brushes his lips over Steve’s skin and then sort of smushes his face in Steve’s chest, and breathes for a minute.

“You smell _really_ good,” James says, and Steve huffs a laugh at him, and then takes a breath and tries not to make a noise when James decides that _smell good_ translates to _taste good_. 

“Ah,” he says, failing instantly, and then he puts a hand on the back of James’ head because James’ hair is getting longer - he hasn’t cut it all winter - and he likes to have his hands in it. “Honey, d’you-”

James slides his hand down Steve’s stomach and under the bedclothes, and Steve shakes his head.

“Hey, hey,” he says, and James lifts his head and looks at him, as James always does when Steve makes it clear he’s not playing around. “How you feelin’?” 

James’ mouth twists a little, and he turns himself, gets onto his stomach and drapes himself over Steve, reaching up to brush Steve’s hair off his forehead in return a moment later.

“Better,” he says, and then he shakes his head a little. “It sucks but I’m over it.”

Steve examines him a little, settles back into his pillows and looks at him.

“What aren’t you telling me?” he says softly, and James’ mouth pinches a little.

“Nothing important,” he says. 

“James,” Steve answers, but James holds up a hand.

“I mean it,” he says. “It was a big deal at the time, it’s not a big deal now. I had an ex who liked to yell at me for shit - he was a shitty guy, and we were both terrible people.”

Steve feels his blood warm a little.

“I seriously doubt it,” he says, but James’ eyes go a little wider.

“No, I mean it,” he says. “You know how kids are assholes?”

Steve laughs. It takes him so much by surprise and he slaps his hand over his mouth - mainly because he knows exactly what James means. He’s just never heard it put quite like that before.

“Sure,” he says. “Assholes?”

“You know,” James answers dismissively, “before kids are people they’re assholes. Babies start out the center of the universe, then they’re little kids who yell when they don’t get what they want, then they’re teenagers who don’t know how to be people, then they’re people. You know?”

Steve chuckles at him.

“You mean how babies become adults?” he says, and James nods.

“Yeah,” he says. “Well I was at college early and high school early and shit like that, and I didn’t know who I was. You know? You don’t at that a- Well, _I_ didn’t at that age but maybe you did but you know what I mean, and I got with the wrong guy and he was a dick but I was a prick so-” he holds out a hand to end his sentence, like _voila_.

“You?” Steve says, laying on the sarcasm with a proverbial trowel. “A prick?”

James’ mouth drops open, and he searches around for something to do in retaliation but Steve gets there first. He gets hold of James and turns them both, rolls them over so James is under him and very pointedly looks at the clock. 

“There’s half an hour before you gotta get up, which makes it half and hour of free time and I have plenty of ideas,” he says, and James looks interested but in a very soft sort of way.

It’s a trust Steve knows he’s lucky to have, an ease James doesn’t show everyone, and Steve leans down and kisses his neck, his collarbone, follows a path up the side of James’ throat. 

“I want to hear more about it sometime,” Steve says, and James nods.

He doesn’t look unhappy, doesn’t really look all the way awake.

“Because I love you,” Steve clarifies. “I want to know everything about you that you’re willing to tell me.”

“Not when you’re gonna blow me though, okay?” James says, and Steve snorts.

“Oh is _that_ what I’m doing?”

“It’s what _I_ was doing,” he says. “Before I was so rudely interrupted.”

“Oh, rudely interrupted,” Steve answers, pulling the covers up over his head so he can shimmy down the mattress, “however will I apologize?”

***

“Have you figured out,” Steve says, “what you’d like to do for Valentine’s?”

“Yeah,” James says, and oh?

Steve wasn’t expecting that.

He lifts his head off the pillow and looks down at James, rubs his hand down James’ back. 

“What’s the plan?” 

James shifts a little against him, and then tilts his head upward a little, frowning.

“What?” he says. “No? How’s it a surprise if I tell you?”

Steve shakes his head a little, more surprised.

“Oh?” he says.

“Yeah,” James answers. “And li- I mean like- Like you’re- Okay, I’m not going to take you to,” he casts about “I dunno, Tokyo or something, I can’t afford that-”

“Oh shit, I gotta get on that joint bank account,” Steve says, and James pulls a face.

“If you want we should go somewhere, we will, but. I. Want to do something. I’m planning it with Amy. Y’know. BILY.”

For a moment, Steve wonders who Billy is and what he’s missing, but then he recognizes it for their acronym and feels the corner of his mouth pull up. 

“Oh yeah?” he says. “I need to wear somethin’ nice?”

“You’ll need…I mean, you always wear somethin’ nice,” James says. “But given that it’s not for like….ages, it’s fine. Uh, also a beard, we’re going out.”

Steve thinks this over for a few moments, happy because they’re both happy, quiet because they’re both quiet. 

“Okay,” he says. “I think I can do that. I can do that at like….twelve hours’ notice, that’s fine. Fancy fancy?”

“Oh nah,” James answers, and rolls onto his back. “Joggers and a fannypack, I don’t care. It’s something I wanna do to do with you, I’m not…like I’m not trying to _impress_ you.”

Steve feels the blood rise to his face and chuckles.

“Well that told me, huh?” he says, and James guffaws, and then sits up, and then leans over him.

“No!” he says, laughing. “That’s not what I meant, God,” and Steve finds that he’s laughing as well. 

“Chopper rides!” he says. “The, like, third best suite in the Waldorf!”

James slaps his chest and then keels over again and lies on the mattress. Steve doesn’t ask if he’s feeling better this morning, mostly because James obviously is but also because he doesn’t want to remind James that he wasn’t doing so great the night before.

“Hey, play hooky,” Steve says, “fuck me senseless.”

James’ hand comes over and slaps his chest again.

“Unfair,” he says, “I have to get up and I don’t want a hard-on when I walk into work.”

“Won’t have it when you walk in if you fuck me senseless now.”

“You’re already senseless,” James says, rolls over against Steve to kiss him, and kisses him, and _kisses_ him, _hello,_ and then he pulls away unfairly slowly, leaves Steve’s lower lip tingling as he draws away. “I have to get ready for work.”

Steve purses his lips.

“Fine,” he says as James sets himself into motion again, this time rolling himself off the edge of the bed and onto his feet. “You comin’ up for lunch?”

James laughs. 

“Pun intended?” he says. “If you’re good.”

“How ‘bout if I’m bad?” Steve says instead, and James snorts. 

“Let’s be real,” he says. “Either way.”

**Author's Note:**

> Anyone curious, yeah I picked the 41st floor because of Sam in TWS. There’s something about Anthony Mackie yelling FORTY-*FIRST* that sticks with you.


End file.
